User blog:Brady26/Alys
Tripp sighed as he closed up the books and scrolls that surrounded him, carefully placing a stack of tomes of first editions and notes belonging to the long dead creators of the spells he had copied down into his now overflowing spellbook. Commanding his unseen servant to carry the library books he rubbed his eyes as his focus changed, his eyes two white orbs with a pitch black pupil and floating lines of runes and letters drifting just beneath the surface, one of the side effects of his ability to read any language causing his eyes to appear strange to those unfamiliar with the arcane. Tiredness had seized him, a weakness his body had fought before when he first started to learn the mysteries of the spheres, and even now he was cursed to subject himself to hours of study in order to master the craft. Hopefully Az could rid him of his weariness when he was reunited with her. Though sleep would no doubt ease many of these troubles, they came with their own burdens in the form of omens, warnings, flashes of insights that he would need to make sense of in the morning with the tarot. So many paths and futures set before him, most are dark and filled with anguish, but from a few he can gleam a few fragments of possibility which he can alter fate, or at least avoid outright disaster whenever he can. Glancing up, Tripp saw that the hourglass he had animated had turned itself again, another hour had passed, the others would be waiting for him outside for Madoc to arrive with the tuning forks so they might return to the mortal realms. The others had seemed disquiet in this world of books and research, all except Az and himself, though her mind could appreciate the value of the resource they had earned, and for him this was an opportunity he had to seize. Even this world’s master, the god of knowledge and the arcane, knew to leave those who sought to learn from his library alone to complete their work. This god doesn’t seem so bad, Tripp thought, though his children could stand to learn a bit from him about minding their own business. As the ink dried in his spellbook he took thumbed the worn pages with notes and annotations bursting forth from its layers. It had been a gift from his mother, a second hand copy from a magi of Telinor, one of her many gifts she brought with her on her travels. His other hand fingered the hilts of the daggers at his waist. One was of amber, a tool of his new quarry. Another belonged to an older foe, a cultist of the Dragon Queen, one of the first of his little rebellions against his companions who dared to try and decide what he could and could not do. Now perhaps he understood their motives better, but still it was a nice memory. The last dagger had been another gift, one of Rosa the Finder’s, his mother, blades that she had used on her travels across Etan, handed to a wide eyed halfling child as a concerned father looked on. With a start he realised that these might be the last of the gifts his mother had collected, all the rest were in his father’s home in Heystone. And Heystone was gone. With a heavy clap he closed his spellbook, the hourglass hoping down to follow him from the private alcove he had studied in for over a day. Tripp stopped at the doorway, four hulking creatures were being led through the library by another one of those automata in the corridor just outside. Were those ogres? He shook his head, glancing back at the space and the hourglass marching purposefully across the floor. He had a little more time. They would not mind waiting for him. And he had the space here, he might as well use it. Closing the door behind him he pointed at a chair and his invisible servant push it aside, making room for him to begin his ritual. “Suvet kajanto asofik yabengis zo. Daku faban harga, ben odu cas.” '' Tripp chanted, repeating the incantation over and over as he drew out a ring on the floor, marking five points that he placed a stick of incense that Charanko had left them before his departure, lighting each with a snap of his fingers. In the centre of the pentagram he placed a bowl of brass filled with charcoal and herbs, with another snap of his fingers a trail of smoke started to trickle out of the mixture. Suspended in the air next to him was his spellbook, his unseen servant holding it up so Tripp’s hands could be free to manage the ritual. He noticed an annotation he had copied: ‘''while the herbs, charcoal and incense are key to crafting a material form for the familiar, burning something close to yourself along with these components can enhance the connection between you and it.’ Thinking for a moment, Tripp reached into his bag of holding, holding his hand into the extradimensional space he summoned forth some items he thought to burn. “Suvet kajanto asofik yabengis zo. Daku faban harga, ben odu cas.” The False Jhaxi’s wand, a twisted thing of driftwood and adorned in those symbols the followers of the primordial son had used to copy his scripture, placing it into the charcoal caused flames to leap out around it as it burned, the fragments of magic bursting forth in colourful sparks that gave way to an aura of blackness that slowly died as the wood turned to ash. “Suvet kajanto asofik yabengis zo. Daku faban harga, ben odu cas.” '' A roll of parchment appeared in his hand, its worn paper marked with the light scratches of a stenotyped image of a half-dwarf woman looking out at an unseen horizon, a number of other figures were moving around behind her, but they were hazy and lacked detail, only the smiling face of the woman was clear to see. Folding the paper he placed it into the smoking brazier, the cloud of colourful smoke coalescing into a vague ball shape above the pentagram. Unlike the wand this was a mundane piece of paper, which burned with a bright, if ordinary, flame. ''“Suvet kajanto asofik yabengis zo. Daku faban harga, ben odu cas.” '' Drifting from the bag came a patch, meant to be sewn into clothing, of a W with a small flame embellishment atop its central point. Turning the patch over in his hands, Tripp rubbed away some smudges and grime that had been left on it, to be expected by many things found in Schwarzmeer. He wondered whether the owner of the Fleece & Tin was still operating. He wondered whether they were even still alive. He wondered if he cared if they were. He wondered whether he should or not, as he tossed the patch into the red hot bowl, not paying it much mind as it shriveled and burned. ''“Suvet kajanto asofik yabengis zo. Daku faban harga, ben odu cas.” '' Removing his hand from the from the bag, he snatched two daggers from his belt without thought, closing his eyes to let fate decide which he would take. Opening them again, he found he held his mother’s dagger and the dagger he took from the cultist, he gently tossed them into the air, deftly catching them as Rosa had taught him. Setting them on the ground before him, he once again reached into his bag and pulled out a vial of black ink, with a wave of his hand a spectral glove appeared in the air to hold the vial as he held out his mother’s dagger to let the mage hand carefully place a drop onto the surface before recorking and stowing the priceless material away again. With the other dagger he pricked the tip of his finger, letting a dropping of dark, but clearly red blood fall onto it. ''“Suvet kajanto asofik yabengis zo. Daku faban harga, ben odu cas.” '' Holding both daggers he plunged them into the charcoal, as the ink and blood touched the heat a whistling screech erupted from the bowl that was quickly silenced as the materials burned away into the smoke and Tripp pulled the blades out, black stains burning away from the metal that was red hot, despite only being in the charcoal for mere moments. ''“Suvet kajanto asofik yabengis zo. Daku faban harga, ben odu cas.” '' Allowing the blades to float away with his mage hand, Tripp rose as the ritual completed. He had added a few more extra materials than the spell had required, but he hoped his creative liberties would work in his favour as he moved his fingers around the smoke that had formed into an orb above the brazier. Shaping it, he felt the consciousness forming as he willed a fragment of his soul into the smoke to give it true life, a slight tugging on his chest signalling the spell was working. ''“Suvet kajanto asofik yabengis zo. Daku faban harga, ben odu cas.” '' The incense was snuffed out, the bowl ceased producing smoke, with only a few embers casting a light from beneath the floating ball of smoke which gave the wisp an otherworldly glow. From that smoke a single sliver of blackness formed, a line of darkness framed by glowing blue wisps that focused on Tripp’s own eyes. Tripp blinked as the smoke stung his eyes, in response the line folded in on itself reopening as two lines instead of one, shrinking down into a single pair of black eyes that stared out at him from the smoking grey void beyond. A fracture of possibility shaped from his soul and wrapped in magicks to form a mundane shell around it. As they stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, but by the shuffling of the animated hourglass it could have been no more than a minute, the eyes in the smoke began to blink and shift, moving as if in the sockets of an unseen skull that was taking form around them. Behind the eyes a body seemed to be taking shape, spots of the same wisping blue lights trailed along its back, white dots of that blue light in a field of absolute shadow, ending in a thin line of darkness that swirled like fresh ink on parchment in the smoke. From its body extended out four small limbs, slivers of silver claws sheathing and unsheathing themselves from the ends. With a warning “meowrl!” the creature summoned from another realm leaped forth from the smoke, which now free from the spell plumed up in a wave that dissipated into the air. The form landed at Tripp’s feet, it’s back arching up as its black hairs stood up in a threatening posture before it’s new master, before relaxing and taking in its surroundings. Leaning down, Tripp picked the creature up in his hands, its body appearing to stretch beyond what its small form would have led one to believe. The halfling wizard eyed the form with a critical eye. It was a cat, or at least a fiend that he had crafted into the cat, black fur speckled with white dots, and with wispy blue irises that ringed a pupil of absolute darkness. It was female by the looks of things, Tripp had not expected that, though he’s not sure why he would not have. Focusing his thoughts he extended his consciousness out to the familiar, he felt its mind, it was cold and cruel, though not uncomfortable for him, and he found a desire for companionship buried within rising to greet him. Closing his eyes, he felt a rush in his ears as he briefly became blind and deaf until he was looking up his own face staring down at him. Breathing in, his sense of smell was far more acute, he smelled the lingering elements of the ritual, the sweat clinging to his robes, and the last tinges of the sausage that Borok had packed him on his breath. He could feel the familair’s discomfort at being held so he released it, allowing the creature to roam around its new surrounding. ''“Should we go look for him?” asked Efyrn as she and the others stood in the entry hall to the Great Library. “He’ll be here,” answered Az, though the others exchanged glances, “''he’s probably just finishing up with those spells he wanted to learn.”'' “Sure look, we can just leave without him can’t we?” offered Luchtaine, “I mean he’s probably loving it with all those nerd books!” '' Az did not reply, but kept glancing down the corridors leading to the library beyond, smiling as she could make out the shape of the halfling moving with only a small degree of haste towards them, waving excitedly as he clutched a bulging spellbook. ''“Here he is,” Efyrn announced, though her eyes narrowed skeptically for a moment remembering the abundant usage of illusion magic these people employed, “''at least I think that it’s him.” '' “We all ready?” ''Tripp asked as he approached Az, not looking at anyone else, though his magick robes gave him a panoramic view of the chamber. As he reached the half-dwarf woman, the cat leaped from his robes where she had hidden, landing deftly on her shoulders and purring softly. Around the cat’s neck was a silk kerchief, which Tripp had temporarily marked with the W of the Waterside Company. Looking at the others assembled the cat hissed, raising itself up as it saw the half-elf bard swaying slightly on unsteady legs. ''“Ge’zuus!” Luchtaine swore in his native Vilnaian, “What in the Hells is that?!” '' ''“It’s a cat.” Tripp replied, snapping his fingers to cause the creature to flick out of reality and back into the pocket realm Tripp had crafted to hold the fiend when not in use, another snap caused the black cat to reappear around his neck, nestling like a scarf in his high collar. “I made a friend too.” ''Az said with a smile, holding out her arm to let a gull, flying from its perch high above, place itself perfectly on her wrist. Its curious eyes took in Tripp and his new companion, Tripp saw himself reflected in those eyes, a wide smile creeping its way onto his face. ''“Great, we’ve all got magical animal friends!” Luchtaine exclaimed, “Can we go now?” '' ''“What’s their name?” ''Tripp asked as they walked towards the exit flanked by the four elementals. ''“Skrem” ''Az replied as the gull hopped around her to land on Tripp, the cat leaping into Az’s arms at the same time, “And what’s her name?”'' “Alys. Named for the last queen of Hoffendale.” Tripp said, offering the gull some of his rations, which it greedily took,'' “I thought it might help her and Osgarth get along if they shared a dynasty.”'' Category:Blog posts